Flowers under the Bridge
by ForKia
Summary: "Please..." Her soft plea made him grin wickedly, his canines showing, "Please what, sweetheart?" Her head was spinning and she could feel de blood rising to her cheeks. "Victor, I – please, stop," They were starting to overwhelm her; the red waves exploding from his skin were too much, "Please–" The strong hand wrapped around her throat tightened. And she gave in. Victor/OC.


They are Coming

She had had better days.

Still, the brief feeling of pure ecstasy that was flowing through her veins was overshadowing her every thought. All she could do was _feel_.

Feel the cloudy, comfortable ground, in which her limp body was slowly sinking into; the warm beams of sunlight coming through the gaps between the wooden boards and caressing her face; and then the tingling in her arms and legs, making them weightless.

She was unable to see. Like looking through binoculars that weren't adjusted properly to the distance to which you were looking. Tunnel vision more or less and eyes glazed over. All her ears were perceiving was a weird sort of unrecognizable noise. She imagined it was the sea nearby and she was floating on her back in the cool water. Her arms moved over the floor as if she was swimming. Her head was really drowning more. Drowsily.

Better than the best chocolate, a million dollars in cash and the pleasure of an orgasm all together. So satisfying...

And thank God, her mind was finally hers once again. In absolute silence. Well, there were the Waves, but they had always been kind to her – if they were hers at least.

_It_ was weighing heavily on her shoulders, pushing them into the filthy carpeted floor with an unnatural force, as if two massive nails were hammered right through her collarbones. She couldn't feel it yet though and there was no blood.

It was only a matter of time before it would be over. And she could tell that moment was approaching.

As she lay on her back staring at the ceiling –the stench of rat faeces and rotten wood filling her nostrils – she smiled. She fucking smiled.

It was pathetic.

...

Self-pity was such a ghastly Emotion, she thought while still coming to her senses outside. The weather was disagreeing with her pessimistic mood. It was really a beautiful day.

And she knew as soon as tonight it would start all over again. Especially with her visit to that woman in mind.

Exhausting really.

No, no, she had to focus now. Keep Them under control until she was home. She couldn't get another dose 'till tomorrow afternoon.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as it fell in front of her face and pushed the sunglasses up her nose, hiding her bloodshot eyes. Those were just to hide her embarrassment.

Her stomach rumbled in that moment. Oh, it had been hours since she had eaten something.

She saw a hotdog cart on the corner of the street. Tilting her chin, she hesitated for a moment. The two males standing by the stall weren't paying any attention to her. Would they notice..?

After she had arrived at the cart, she ordered a hotdog. The seller smiled gracious at her with 'Yes, ma'am.' He handed her the bread and sausage, ketchup and mustard coating the top. She paid in cash and thanked him.

"Have a good day, sweetheart."

Now that was out of the question.

And she began her walk again, taking a bite of food in the process. She crossed the street then, hurrying as to not hold up traffic. Upon reaching the curb stone, she halted again, letting her gaze rest on a newspaper shop to her right.

A group of men passed her and greeted her kindly. She only smiled from behind her sunglasses, not meeting any of their eyes.

The singing of birds mixed with the sounds of engines roaring and people chattering as the girl moved to the booth. Her pupils were fixed on one of the many papers hanging on a rack. She tipped her head to the side slightly, studying the huge letters on the front, reading: PARLEMENT FAVORS MUTANT REGISTRATION ACT

She repeated the words softly, blinking in confusion.

The haze she had been in just a minute ago vanished in thin air and she snapped back to reality. The world was crystal clear again.

Her fingers reached out and took a black and white broadsheet down. She opened the paper to look for the full article.

She removed the glasses on her nose, pushing it over her curls to rest on the top of her head. A flat expression was on her face and her now revealed brown eyes were big and wide.

…_manifestation of the mutant gene… undoubtedly a danger to the national peace… we should take action before it's too late... Senator Goodwin proposes a mutant registration act..._

She didn't have the patience to read the whole thing. She was terrified to the bone and her tired but now sharp eyes glanced around her warily, flashing from one corner of the street to the other and then to people in close proximity to her. There were over a dozen suspicious-looking suits around and she could swear she saw a few with earpieces and sunglasses. They screamed government. Were they on to her? She had to get out of here. Dizziness and panic started to tighten in her chest.

The half-done hotdog was forgotten as she tried to hold the newspaper in one hand with the pages remaining readable, even when the wind messed with it.

"Hey! Are you gonna pay for that, or what?" A voice snapped her out of her trance.

She gasped, her heart skipping a beat, looking in the direction of the man. "Uhm… no…" She shook her head, quickly storing the paper back in its place. "Sorry, sir."

The owner of the stall grunted, "You either buy or get the fuck away. Ya hear me?" But his brows came together as he spoke.

A swift nod. Oh God, oh God.

"Right, now beat it, you fucking crackhead!" He had seen the bloody eyes in their hollow sockets, the bones protruding from her body as a result of lack of flesh and the pale, unhealthy looking skin.

Her heart was racing still, even though there was in fact no threat. Because of that she willed her legs not to run, but stroll away in a steady, controlled pace.

She dumped the rest of her hotdog into a garbage can. Her appetite had disappeared and she felt like vomiting; all she could think about was the news she had just received. The front page of the paper was stuffed inside the pocket of her jacket. Daria might want to see it–

But the puke rose from her stomach to her throat all of the sudden, interrupting her thoughts, and forced itself out with force. She bend over, coughing and gagging until everything she had eaten in de past few hours, including her breakfast this morning, was on the pavement in front of her. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. The dour taste was something she would never get used to.

Her belly was still spasmodic when she began walking again and she tried not to let the pain show, but the fear was mostly suppressed for now. She was a freak to the outside world but not necessarily one they were looking for.

Right now she couldn't make herself to care if anyone had seen her. Not that she could. The drug still had that effect, even for a little while. Another shot, she thought, that is what she wanted. Badly.

Minutes later a grand building doomed up in the distance.

The eerie feeling became stronger with every step she took towards it. That damned place.

The soft yellow structure was old-fashioned and decorated beautifully at the front. The windows were elongated and lined up in pairs of three in the stone walls. It was at least four stories high, as far as one could see from the outside, excluding the little red turrets standing on top of the bluish roof tiles. A grand entrance was at the end of the wide driveway. Neatly cut grass surrounded the clinic, with a few flowerbeds here and there in the most bright of colours. A dozen large trees were located near the foyer and several cars had been parked there as well.

She was walking up the driveway, in the direction of the thick double doors. Her hair swept around her face as an afternoon breeze brushed past her. It didn't take long before she had reached the doorknob and entered the enormous complex without giving a second glance at the sign just outside.

_Traverse City Regional Psychiatric Hospital._

The inside of the hospital looked quite expensive, with shining marble floors. Her footsteps echoed through the long hallway as she wasted no time and walked straight to the counter opposite of the entrance. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling and on either sides of the corridor paintings decorated the clean walls. She remembered the first time she laid eyes on those painting. It had been years ago and the wild, vivid lines and colours had intrigued her. As if they portrayed the chaotic minds of the patients living there. Now, she paid them no attention.

A few people were passing, some in wheelchairs others not.

She simply ignored the fact some of them made spastic movements with their heads or screamed loudly for no particular reason in no particular language. She suddenly felt _very_ normal.

Ever the jokester.

With her hand around the band of her backpack, she took the glasses off her nose and stuffed them inside the bag.

"Good afternoon, Liv." The woman behind the reception greeted her, "How are you today?" She almost swallowed her words back in when she took in the girl's complexion. It was close to a walking skeleton.

"Fine, thank you." She answered curtly, smiling. Her feet had taken a slower pace in front of the counter.

_Haha, good liar._

"I'm glad to hear that." A sadness was in her voice, but the blond quickly changed the subject: "But of course you're not here to have small talk with me, are you? I'll let go on with your business."

Liv nodded a little, flashing another small smile. But inside she was crying.

The phone started ringing then.

The woman behind the reception groaned, "What now?" She made an exaggerated annoyed face, taking the horn in her hand and addressing the person on the other side, her long red nails in contrast with the white plastic.

Liv felt the _Sensi_ coming back to her. Slowly but steadily. She knew because Annoyance reared It's ugly head inside her: the bubblegum Deborah was chewing popped.

_Grrr..._

"Good day, Deborah." She turned and went on her way.

"Oh! – hold on a second, dear –" Deborah put her hand on the speaker, "Tell her I said hi, will ya?" She threw at Liv. "I haven't seen her all week."

The rolling of her eyes, but still she waved with her hand in acknowledgement. "Sure thing."

The receptionist stared at the girl's retreating back. A sigh escaped her lips as she thought of the patient Liv was about to visit. The phone completely forgotten, she was startled when she heard yelling close to her ear. "I'm so sorry, sir!" She apologized, immediately engaging in conversation again, her eyes focused on the computer in front of her.

Liv had already disappeared through a glass revolving door when she looked up again, so she continued her work.

A calm lady sat in the corner of the recreation room, her head turned to the window while her blank eyes looked intently at the courtyard outside. And Liv was watching her from her spot on the other side of the large space.

She was breathing silently to herself, her eyelids quite heavy and features neutral.

The woman had light blue, striped pyjamas on, with a red bathrobe over it. Her hair was short and chaotically cut, as if someone had used a razor on it. The colour was recognizable though: reddish, copper. The same as her daughter. Her face was stoic without any type of emotion visible. Deep wrinkles framed her eyes and forehead and an implacable tiredness hung in the air around her. She looked older, much older than she actually was. But there was also some kind of strain, which made people stay away from the 'crazy woman by the window'. Her thin frame also indicated that she wasn't in the best physical state either.

Liv went to sit by her.

"Hey, mom."

The woman didn't react.

"I brought you the book I promised to take with me last time." She spoke carefully, pulling a children's book from her bag, after which she placed it on the table in between them. "I figured one of the nurses will probably want to read it to you." A quick glance from underneath her eyebrows, "But the doctors said that things from your past might help you remember who you are." Her tone was deliberately gentle and kind, as if she was talking to a six-year-old. It took her all her concentration though. "You used to read it to me when I was young–"

She blinked a few times and finally, slowly, tore her eyes away from the window. But she only gave the girl – who's spine was still bend forward – opposite of her a fleeting look, her gaze instead resting on the book.

"Deborah said hi." Liv informed her out of the blue, "You know, the woman from the reception? She's really nice." A soft grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, "_Different…_ but nice nonetheless."

_What was it with the lies?_

"Mom?" Liv said when nothing happened for half a minute. "Mom… they're not coming." Damnit, this was never going to change.

The other people in the room were all muttering quietly to each other, but the voices seemed of so little importance when Liv saw her mother this way. It was almost too much.

"Don't you recognize me?" The question came out as a restrained sob.

_Fuck!_

She was fighting tears. _Please, no... _Then it would go from bad to worse_._

The patient was looking at her own hands now, studying the scarred fingers and incredibly short nails. Suddenly, she raised her head, in quite a fast movement for her doing, and her features lit up.

Liv saw a lively sparkle in her parent's orbs and smiled back. "Mom, it's me–" She went to extend her arm, with the intension to touch her hand over the table, but someone disturbed their conversation.

"Meta Petterson? It's time for your medication."

A nurse walked up to the pair from behind Liv and instantly she moved back in her seat. Her mother hadn't been smiling at her, but at the pudding that would always come right after her dose of pills.

Liv sighed and sagged in the chair a little. After all this time she still didn't remember her own blood. Two years had gone by since the accident. Two years of Liv trying desperately to help her mother overcome her mental illness, but to no avail.

She struggled against the tears that were building up behind her eyes, swallowing and biting her bottom lip gently. The lump in the throat caused a pressure on her chest. It was almost time, she knew, but not before dark would the War begin again. Yes, strange. Warmongering inside her head. Whom you ask?

As the nurse gave Misses Petterson her tablets, Liv rose from her chair suddenly.

"Are you leaving already?" She asked with raised brows.

Liv only nodded, "Yeah, I've gotta be home b'fore dinner." She swung her bag over her shoulder and adjusted her clothes. Trying frantically to keep her face composed, the girl added: "See ya on Tuesday."

"Liv?" The staff worker called after her, stopping her in her tracks.

After she had turned around slowly, eyes watery from Sadness, she looked at the other woman insecurely, not knowing what to expect.

"You know this is not your fault, right?"

She casted a look at the ground.

"It's all in her head. There's nothing you can do to change that."

A short silence followed, in which the dark-skinned nurse waited Liv's respond patiently.

After taking a deep breath, she shook her head indistinctly. "This is not about me."

The older female smiled sadly, "Oh, sweetheart–"

"No–" She interrupted, "Don't even–" Tears threatened to fall, trembling on the edge of her lashes, "Just mind your own business." Her voice trembled as it dropped almost to a whisper.

"Every Tuesday and Saturday, right before you come in, she goes to sit by the window – the one with a clear view on the courtyard." A pause, then: "Sometimes she waits for over two hours for you to arrive. It always brings a smile to her face: the sight of you walking up the driveway." She smiled to prove that point, "It gives her great joy, Liv. You don't realize what you mean to her. She's always waiting for you to come. It's all that keeps her occupied."

Liv stared at the nurse for a few seconds with a clean expression, but then wrinkles appeared in her forehead as she frowned. A strange huff left her mouth then. "She's not waiting for _me_." With that, she left the room, exiting through the revolving door while angrily wiping a tear from her cheek.

Liv leaned with her temple against the cool glass of the bus, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. The outside world moved behind the window as the bus was driving, sunlight cascading on her face.

She was sitting in the back, two rows before the last one. Her elbow was popped up against the rim sticking from the side of the vehicle to her left, her hand filled with her cheek. A cheerlessness was about her, but she was no longer crying nor was any other sign of sadness present on her features. The blankness had returned and remained there the whole three-hour-journey home.

Her thoughts wandered as she reopened all of the old wounds situated in the corners of her mind. She was dead tired when she finally stepped off the bus at the coach stop; glad at the same time at the vision of the warmth and safety of her bed.

The door of her bedroom swung closed with the flick of her wrist and she dropped her bag unceremoniously on the floor. After kicking off her shoes, she let her weak body fall onto the mattress behind her.

Her hair was a copper and bronze mess of curls, tumbled about the bed around her head like an aura. She gazed up at the plain ceiling above, arms and legs limp and bend at uncomfortable angles. Just as she was this morning in the old warehouse. The thought made her cringe in Shame.

Noises downstairs. Voices that spoke and turned to yells next. "Is she home?! 'Gina, just look at her! This can't go on any longer!" Now hushed whispers with an intense undertone. Liv tried to zone them out. "No, please, just let her be–" More arguing. "Think about _our_ children!"

Liv already felt like a stranger in her own home. She knew she had to leave sooner or later but this was sooner than she had wanted. Now that her self-control was practically none existent.

_Like I said, pathetic._


End file.
